Three Small Words
by Moonlit Tiger Lily
Summary: He kissed her like she always dreamed he would. RWxHG
1. Awakening

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, characters or otherwise.

Three Small Words

Chapter One: Awakening

Hermione woke, as normal, at five in the morning on February the thirteenth. She brushed her ruffled hair out of her eyes and stared at the canopy of her four-poster. The sunlight filtered in through a gap in the deep red curtains. Her world was tinged with crimson. She thought, with a sigh of longing, that it was appropriate considering the coming holiday. Pulling the thick linens over her shoulders to ward off the winter air, Hermione tried in vain to forget Valentine's Day. She would have no one on a day made for lovers.

It wasn't as if she was the only one who would spend the day alone, though. Harry and Ginny had parted ways despite their obvious desire to stay together. Ron and Lavender had broken up last year as well. Hermione had been kept up all hours of the night after that incident. Lavender had spent weeks either crying herself to sleep or talking to Parvati. On the other hand, Hermione had learned a rather useful spell to get to sleep despite the noise and, though she tried to deny it, she had gotten an odd sort of fuzzy feeling from the knowledge that Ron had seen there was no potential for a decent relationship with Lavender. It wasn't like Hermione to take pleasure in what so obviously caused others pain; she tried to stamp it out.

She stretched her muscles down to her toes, pulling back quickly when her bare feet touched the linens toward the edge of the bed which had not been warmed by her body heat. Throwing back the covers, Hermione groped with her toes for her slippers as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Tomorrow would be just like any other day; she would go to her classes, spend hours in the library, and return to the common room to help Harry and Ron do research on Horcruxes. She stood and gathered her neatly stacked uniform from the top of her trunk. She made a mental note to do laundry soon. It was only Wednesday and she was already in need of clean shirts. She washed her own clothes; Merlin knew the house elves needed the help. As it was, they were busy day and night.

Sighing with the boredom of routine, Hermione turned on the shower and disrobed while the water grew hot. She mentally berated herself as she did so. How could she think her life was boring? She had done and was doing so many exciting things in her time at Hogwarts. She was trying to track down and defeat the man who was, disputably, the most powerful dark wizard to ever have lived and, on top of everything else, she had become Head Girl. Hermione couldn't afford to have a love life. N.E.W.Ts were coming up quickly and she had to concentrate.

Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that her life was not complete. As she stepped into the shower and ran her hands over her moistening hair, Hermione told herself it was a normal feeling. No one wanted to be alone on Valentine's Day, did they? She shook her head clear and lathered the soap. At eighteen years of age, she was beyond all of this. She didn't need a man to complete her; she was fine on her own. Things would go according to plan. When she fell in love, she would be ready for it. Until then, her life was fulfilling enough.

xXxXx

The smell of eggs and pancakes lingered in the halls after breakfast. Hermione hung back, walking behind Harry and Ron on her way to their first class. The two young men were discussing the Quidditch manoeuvres Harry had taught the team. Apparently there was a match with Slytherin tonight, but Hermione didn't give a toss about that.

Her eyes seemed focused on the back of Ron's head; she observed his ruffled hair even as she held a book firmly to her chest. She found herself getting lost in the varying tones of his hair as she walked, causing her to veritably run into him as he slowed. He had turned, walking nearly sideways, to look behind him and get her input in the conversation he had been conducting with Harry. She lost her balance, tripping over his foot, but Ron quickly reached out and held onto her upper arms firmly.

"All right, Hermione?" he asked. His blue eyes met hers and she grew hot. She was uniquely aware of the contact of his hands and of the close proximity between the two of them. Quickly regaining her tongue, she looked at Harry as she replied.

"I'm fine. I was just lost in thought." Harry, however, was no help in calming her down. Hermione grew flustered as she caught the small smirk Harry tried to conceal. A blush flew to her cheeks and she looked at Ron once more, confused as to why he had not yet let go of her.

When he was satisfied Hermione had regained her stability, Ron loosened his grip and let his hands drop. Seemingly oblivious to the interaction between Harry and Hermione, Ron turned to his best mate and said, "That's our Hermione: always thinking. She'll likely be written in our books as the most important magical person since Merlin at this rate."

Hermione blushed more deeply as Ron turned and began to walk again. Harry lingered for a moment to gauge her reaction to this statement, smiling as his eyes fell upon her. He caught up with Ron rather quickly, nearly leaving Hermione behind. Regaining herself rapidly, she fell into step with them once more. The miniscule sigh she emitted went unnoticed in the noisy halls. She'd had a crush on Ron a long time ago, but she thought she had moved beyond that. It was plain to see that the two of them didn't have much in common. Where she was a quiet person he was loud and social. He preferred sports while she would rather read. How could two people so completely and utterly different ever make a good couple?

Even so, there was also the problem of actually initiating a relationship. Hermione had long since suspected Ron had feelings for her. The signs pointed to it. He was jealous of the attention she had received from Viktor and Cormac, protective of her, worried about her, yet he often shied away from her when things grew more serious. Despite the possible attraction between them, Hermione was unsure of herself. All the risks she took were calculated, from letting Harry continue on his own in their first year to going to the Ministry of Magic in their fifth. They weren't always the sanest of judgments, but she thought them through carefully and arrived at the logical choice.

As she entered Charms class, Hermione took a seat in the front row as normal. Harry, however, decided it would be best if he did not sit beside her as he usually did. Instead, he sat two seats to her left, inherently forcing Ron to sit between his two friends. Thrown off by this sudden change in behaviour, Ron sat slowly and whispered questioningly to Harry. Hermione, who was much quicker on the uptake, leaned forward to cast a look of warning at Harry as the would-be matchmaker shrugged his shoulders and offered a poorly thought out excuse.

Hermione pulled out a sugar quill and dipped it in ink. It hovered over the parchment as she waited for class to begin. She was glad to be in the presence of a professor once more. On her rounds last night, she had broken up three couples who had been snogging about the castle. A handful of detentions had been given out as well. It simply wasn't the case that everyone had a girl or boyfriend. It only seemed that way because she was alone, she rationalised, miserably alone.

The fact was Hermione was not sure whether she had separated them because of the rules or of the desire to ignore her own loneliness. She was not one to be taken in by her emotions and she was greatly upset by the idea that she could be. What was it that was causing her to be so moody, so irritable and unlike herself? Surely she could manage her own emotions and take control of her life. Even as she told herself such things, Hermione realised she had been staring into space, quill in mouth, for nearly five minutes. Small splatters of ink had rained from point to paper; black teardrops marred her parchment. The lesson had begun without her, moving on even as her mind raced in the opposite direction.

It was Ron who startled her out of her stupor once more. A sheet of parchment slid over to her, buckling as it hit the forearm she had laid upon the table. Her eyes snapped down to it and simply observed for a moment before she lifted her arm and pulled the paper to her with heavy, limp fingers. 'Are you sure you're all right, Hermione?' Ron had written in his trademark untidy scrawl. She read it through twice, unsure of how to respond. A lie would not work with him any longer. He knew her well enough to know she was preoccupied with something and denying it would only serve to worry him.

Sliding her quill from her mouth, she dipped it in ink once more. Hermione paused again, weighing the possible outcomes of her response. A droplet of ink welled up and fell to the parchment, spreading bulbous fingers in every direction as it created an oblong circle. With only her peripheral vision, she could see Ron's face turned slightly toward her own. He was watching her, waiting to read her response. Professor Flitwick continued with his lecture as Hermione wrote 'I've just a few things on my mind lately.'

She returned the note to him, fully expecting that to be the end of the conversation. She focused on the small man in front of the classroom and prepared to take notes though she'd had no trouble with the chapter they were now covering. Ron, however, was not concerned with the classwork though he had likely not cracked the book save for when prompted to do so in class. His quill scratched upon the paper in rapid strokes before he passed it to her.

'You've been working too much. You should take your mind off school for a while. What do you say we go for a walk around the castle tonight? There's supposed to be a meteor shower.'

Hermione's breathing hitched as her eyes followed the slanted lines of his words. It wasn't what it seemed; it couldn't possibly be. 'What about Harry?' she wrote back.

Ron's back stiffened and he looked forward for a few minutes, seemingly listening to the professor. He turned his eyes down once more and dipped his quill in ink. 'I reckon he'll be staying up in the common room for the party tonight. I know you don't like all the noise, though. I don't mind keeping you company.'

She wanted to think logically. She wanted to turn him down, to tell him off for breaking the rules. Students weren't allowed on the grounds after hours and following the rules was only for their safety: safety that was even more important now the Voldemort was attacking more frequently. Hermione should have written a book worth of reasons for why she would not join him on the grounds that night but she wrote only one word. 'Sure.'


	2. Living

Three Small Words

Chapter Two: Living

Hermione stood in front of the mirror in the room she shared with four other girls her age. It was quiet in the highest part of Gryffindor tower; everyone was in the common room or filtering onto the Quidditch field in anticipation of the match. She gathered her hair loosely and fastened it at the nape of her neck, well aware the wind would pull several tendrils away before long.

Opting for more casual clothing, she put an overcoat on above the jumper she had donned minutes ago. She grabbed the scarf with her House colours and drew it into a loose knot about her neck. Making to take a step toward the front door, the young woman stopped and surveyed herself in the mirror once more.

Even to herself, Hermione looked pretty nice. She was dressed casually enough that no one would think twice, but still enough to make her feel attractive, confident. Confident was anything except how she felt at that particular moment.

Was this to be considered a date? Or was it simply a get together between friends? Without Harry. On Valentine's Day.

She drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes, leaning on the bureau for support. It _was_ a date.

xXxXx

Harry threw on his scarlet Quidditch robes with only the minor nerves he felt after six years of games against his fellow students. Ron, however, seemed more nervous than normal and Harry doubted it had much to do with the game. Indeed, the ginger haired young man seemed distracted as he dressed for the coming game.

"So," Harry said casually, not looking at Ron as he addressed him. "What is this thing tonight?"

"What are you on about?" Ron asked with a quick glance at Harry.

"This _thing_ with Hermione tonight," Harry clarified as he replaced his glasses, knowing full well that Ron was simply trying to avoid the conversation.

Ron sized his friend up before deciding Harry would not back down. He looked toward his locker once more as he fastened his robes. "What about it?"

"Well, is it a date?"

"A…" Ron flustered. "I never said it was. I didn't consider it one." He paused before dropping his voice to ask, "Why, did _she_ call it a date?"

"Not in so much," he replied. "I was just wondering." Harry left then, gathering the members of the Quidditch team to give them a small speech.

xXxXx

Hermione watched as players passed a Quaffle back and forth; the crowd roared about her. Normally, Quidditch was exciting, but today her nerves were jumping not for the closeness of the game, but for her House Keeper. Ron had certainly improved in the two previous years he had protected the Gryffindor hoops. He was surer of himself, less panicky, and definitely more skilled.

However, his eyes kept drifting to the stands where he scanned the crowd repeatedly. Hermione turned pink at the thought that Ron was perhaps looking for her face among the sea of students. Normally she wouldn't have dared, but Hermione found herself hoping he _was_ seeking her out.

Ron, it seemed, was not the only one who had gained more confidence with time. She wouldn't have even thought that Ron could have feelings for her before. In her fourth year, Hermione started to think that, perhaps, he could like her. After that, the evidence began to come, at first in trickles before gradually flooding in.

This, however, was something that left her wondering. Going out with Ron _could_ be a date-it likely was, but it could also be nothing more than his needing to talk to her privately. She dared to think Ron could genuinely be interested in her, but she certainly couldn't assume it.

Before she even knew what has happening, the game was over. Harry held the Snitch firmly in his hand. Ron, as well as the other team members, did a sort of mid-air dog-pile on Harry before flying over to their House section in the stands where they received a warm welcome.

"Hermione," Ron called out, hovering overhead. "Come with me?" He held out his hand for her to take.

"Your broom won't support us both, will it?" she asked, hesitant.

He floated lower into a clearing of students and she took his hand. "It will. It just won't fly too fast."

Hermione held his hand for balance as she slid behind him, wrapping her arms securely around him once she was seated. Ignoring the chatter of the students around them, the two flew off oblivious to Harry smiling as he watched them leave. "Where are we off to?" Hermione asked, unsure. The sun was nearly set and students were being ushered into the castle from the field, but these two were far from there and could no longer hear the excited din of the students. Behind the castle a valley broke and it was toward a stream that they now flew.

"I know I said we would walk around the castle," Ron began, sounding apologetic. Somehow, though, he had gained the easy confidence his brothers had always possessed. His voice was calm, smooth, almost laughing. Inside he was a bundle of nerves, and she figured as much, but his outward appearance did not show it. "But I thought it'd be best if we got away from the lights. We'll be better able to see the stars from further out."

And there it was again. Hermione knew she would have to protest. Being outside after hours was one thing; she had broken that rule many a time before. But being so far from the castle and with so many dangers lurking about, there was no way she could allow this to go on any further. Even so, with her arms wrapped around the exercise-warmed body before her and with her hair blowing behind her, her worries could not penetrate her cloud of elation.

They floated down to the ground slowly, the moonlight sparkling ever more brilliantly on the surface of the stream as the sun sank into the heather blooming in the hills. Her feet touched the ground, only partially jarring her out of the haze she had been in. Ron lay his broom down and turned to her, laying his hands on the sides of her arms and looking her in the eyes softly. His heart beat ferociously. Now that he was committed, he wanted to follow through immediately, but he had to have some tact. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she replied in a tone similar to a sleepy sigh. "I'm wonderful, really. It's just so beautiful." Her eyes turned to the sky and she found herself leaning more toward Ron. Before long, he accepted her into his arms and wrapped her in his robes with her back to his chest. Meteors were just beginning to become visible as the sky grew darker, but Ron had yet to look. His eyes were either firmly focused on the woman before him, or else blank as he thought of how to say the words, those three small words, that had eluded him for so long.

"Hermione," he whispered, as he lifted a hand and ran it through her hair. She meant to make ask what he had been going to say, but instead sighed and leaned into his touch, her words lost. Craning her neck backward, she searched for his eyes. His hand slid from her hair until it was cupping her cheek. Unable to help himself, his gaze stooped to her lips for a fraction of a second.

"Yes, Ron?" she meant to ask, but her breath hitched somewhere between her lungs and vocal cords, leaving the words only partially spoken. Ron understood, nonetheless, but hesitated again. Finally frustration seized him and he shook his head, angry at himself.

"Gryffindors should face their fears," he chided himself, confusing the woman that so mercifully was still in his arms. She turned around to face him better and began to question him, but he was too busy building up his own courage. "I've been so bloody afraid. Afraid to get hurt, afraid to hurt you, that Voldemort would use you to get to me," the wizard's name rolled off his tongue effortlessly, stunning her, but she continued listening intently. "But mostly I've been afraid to say it because I don't know if you'll say it back."

And there it was – a reason for her hopes to soar unrestrained for the first time in years. A reason for her to think that maybe there was something between them, something more than friendship. Still, she was at a loss for words.

"I've wasted enough time," he went on, "and I don't want another hour to go by without my telling you something. I can't stand to keep from you how I feel about you." He took a deep breath. Had he not been so scared, he might have laughed at the undivided attention she gave him, or at the expression she wore which spoke volumes. She dared not hope against hope. He opened his eyes. "I love you... Hermione," The pause between his statement and her name was infinite. He had intended them to be spoken fluidly, but he found that, after those words left his mouth, it was difficult for him to continue speaking. Perhaps he had never really thought he would be able to say it.

He received, for his troubles, silence. There was no reply. She merely stared at him, though he thought he detected a tremor passing through her. His heartbeat grew faster still and he felt the blood, which had collected in his face and ears drain from his head. The flush he had worn left him and he grew pale as pain gripped his chest. "If you don't lo..." He couldn't say it. "If you don't feel the same way, please tell me. Just don't lie to me, and don't leave me perched on the edge."

Hermione took in a breath finally. Oxygen rushed into her veins and she wondered if lack of it was what was making her feel lightheaded. It seemed doubtful. An answer... She searched her mind. It was blissfully blank. She couldn't think, she couldn't talk. She watched him, agonising over the length before her reply, but all she felt was sheer and complete happiness. He loved her. Ronald Weasley loved her as she had hoped he would since third year.

"Ron, I..." She had a newfound respect for him. He had said the words so beautifully moments ago, and now she was finding them impossible to speak. "I love you." She pushed out each word, but they were said nonetheless and her heart all at once felt free. "I love you," she repeated, with more ease. A smile flowered onto her face and she drew his tensed body into her arms. He hugged her back without thinking, but once her words struck home he could not contain himself any longer and he kissed her. He kissed her.

He kissed her like she always dreamed he would.


End file.
